


Wet 'n' Messy

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (well some anyway), Blow Jobs, Coming In Pants, Desperation, Dirty Talk, M/M, Omorashi, Peeing in Public, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All you need to know is that this is Louis getting very desperate and consequently wetting himself on-stage, in front of an 85k or so audience (who don't know because Louis is a sneaky bastard and also the rain helps). It turns Harry on so there are some bonus blowjobs, too.</p><p>You're welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet 'n' Messy

The concert is a little more hectic than usual.

Louis isn’t exactly sure what the reason is—maybe it’s the rain pouring down on them, or it’s the heat that has been getting to all of them, making them move slower than usual. Maybe it’s just one of those _off_ days, where everything feels like a struggle, like the set doesn’t run the way it’s supposed to even if no one sings off-key or gets hurt.

They have fun, and the fans are screaming quite as loud as usual, but a thunderstorm is crackling overhead and it gives the stadium an ominous feeling, Louis thinks.

He’s been drinking water all evening, his mouth dry from the warmth,  and Louis can feel his bladder starting to fill. Even that is enough for him to break a sweat, because he’s been warned by Paul to not go off-stage for a wee again, not after it happened a couple of times in South America.

It’s a bullshit reason, of course, and the other lads break the rule often enough, but when he catches Harry’s eyes when he’s about to move off the stage, he finds Haz slowly shaking his head.

Which means that he spends the next five minutes working his way towards Harry, until he’s standing next to him.

“Don’t go,” he whispers in Louis’ ear, “you’ll get in trouble.”

“You never do,” Louis hisses back, but he knows that that’s only because Harry is _Harry_. Harry doesn’t have to fake-date someone long-time. Harry never gets reprimanded for being flamboyant the way Louis used to.

And his bladder is really, really starting beg for emptying.

Harry looks so worried though, and Louis sighs and nods. “During the break, then.”

He takes a deep breath, clenches his muscles tight again, and keeps on singing. And jumping. And walking.

-

It’s not easy.

Hell, it’s far from easy. Louis knows he misses a couple of the high notes, afraid to tense his diaphragm the proper way in case he loses control over his _other_ muscles.

His stomach is starting to hurt, a slow and burning ache that spreads from his bladder into his bowels and his muscles and skin, leaving him dripping with sweat and jittery as he moves across the stage. It’s getting harder to walk too, the urge to squeeze his legs together (or to press his hand against his dick but that’s a no-go anyway) getting bigger by the minute.

Harry’s still dancing around, happy and bouncy as always unless he catches Louis contemplating leaving the stage, even if it’s mid-song. God. He’d do anything for a wee right now.

The thing is, though. Harry’s right. Louis has gotten into shit for leaving the stage unwarranted before, having the other boys take over his vocals. And it’s his own fault too, today, drinking more water than he probably should have.

Modest doesn’t really care about their health anyway, never has.

It’s stupid as shit that they decided to scrap the Twitter questions, though.

-

By the time the break finally rolls around, Louis can barely stand up straight anymore. His belly is hurting,  and he’s _pretty_ sure he’s going to wet himself if he doesn’t get to the loo _right bloody now_.

Fate has different plans, though.

Lou stops him first, the moment he gets backstage. “Sorry boys,” she tells them, a couple of assistants running over to the others, “it’s the rain, you look terrible on the screens.”

Louis rolls his eyes because it’s complete bullshit, of course, none of the fans would notice and he’s fairly sure his face is flushed with his need to wee. He’s almost doing a little dance on the spot while Lou dries his skin and then smears some foundation-or-whatever-it-is onto his face.

When she’s done, he figures he can make it over to the loos, relief thrumming deep in his bones already, but he’s stopped by a wardrobe assistant, handing him a pair of dry skinnies and a clean shirt.

And he’d tell the bloke to fuck off, he would, but the fella looks like he’s closer to pissing himself than Louis is so he sighs and resigns himself to peeling off his wet trousers.

It takes forever before he’s got the new ones up, though, his damp skin making the fabric cling to his skin enough that he has to jump and wriggle several times before he’s able to close them.

By then, there’s just _no time_ anymore.

-

Halfway through the next song, it starts pouring once more. Within seconds, all of them are soaked again, and it makes Louis grumpy because he _knew_ he could’ve used the break to go to the loo and instead he feels like he’s going to throw up because he has to go so bad.

Which is of course when Niall decides to start a water fight.

Louis watches, only half-interested as Niall chases Harry on stage, throwing water from a bottle at him. The way Harry’s shirt clings to his torso is enough to distract him for a moment, which is nice.

He makes it through his solo fine, but right after there’s a gush of cold water down his back and even as it’s still pouring down on him he’s thinking _no, god no, no, no_ as he feels a spot of hothothot spread at his crotch.

The shock has his muscles clench up again, but Louis knows it’s going to be a lost cause. He has to get off the stage _now,_ except he doesn’t even know if he’s going to make it if he _does_.

A feeling of sickness settles in his stomach as he realizes that he won’t. There’s no way that he’ll be able to move _and_ keep up his wee. His entire body is hurting, all he can think of is how bad he needs to go, and he’s missed several more notes much to his own annoyance and his band members’ worry.

Harry’s still standing beside him, empty bottle in his hand.

“Maybe you should sit down,” he tells Louis in his ear, lips soft and breath warm. The other lads seem to think he’s ill, casting looks in their direction.

“I have to go wee, Harry,” Louis hisses, and he’s panicking now, alright. Harry’s hand is on his shoulder then, and he can hear the fangirls squeal even louder— _obviously_ —and then Harry’s sitting him down, fussing over him even though Louis is sure that his bum landed in a puddle on purpose.

“I’m just pretending you’re not well,” Harry whispers to him. “Hurt, or something. The fans will never know.”

And Louis tries to hold it in, does, they’ve two more songs to go, but—

His bladder makes the decision for him, even as he valiantly tries crossing his legs, stretching them out in front of them in a last attempt at not weeing himself on stage.

It’s like it bursts out of him, then, the warm liquid spreading across his hip, and Louis is glad he’s not singing right now because he made a _noise_ and Harry looks at him hotly even as he darts away.

 Looking down, he can faintly see the wet patch spread, his piss pushing through the fabric with the force it’s coming from his body so he tries to hold back a little, tries to slow the flow so it isn’t _as_ noticeable even though the rain’s picked up again.

It quickly runs down between his legs and over his hip to warm his bum, and then it starts to drip down the backs of his thighs and he hopes to god that no one is paying _that_ close attention to him right now; that he’s too far off for anyone to see something, security included.

His heart is hammering too fast, both from Louis being so nervous right now and all the muscles in his stomach and thighs relaxing at once—his dick twitches with pleasure even as he’s still pissing, and he pushes one hand between his legs so it’ll hopefully be less noticeable.

His solo is coming up fast, and even as Louis goes into it, staring at the crowd, he can feel the stream of piss leaving his dick. It’s the last bit, and it flows out weak but he forces himself to keep singing, forces his voice to rise even as he tenses his stomach muscles, pulsing out the last drops of wee because he’s from the waist down already, it doesn’t matter _now_.

Harry s staring at him, might have looked at him the entire time although Louis was a bit—a bit blessed out, really. His mouth’s a little opened, cheeks flushed, and his dick is very clearly outlined in his trousers. (Not that it usually isn’t, but it is extra so now that he’s hard).

The last song is easier. Louis dares to stand up, carefully, although his jeans were already saturated with rain before so they aren’t much more clingy than they were before and he’s fairly sure no one’ll notice he actually weed on himself just now.

Off stage, Harry pulls him into a quick hug and mutters, “Sorry” in his ear, even as the other boys look at them a bit weirdly.

Louis is tired though, leaning into Harry willingly even if they’ve go to back up soon for the last encore.

Which is quite the encore, Louis decides, because Harry stalks over to the place Louis was sitting earlier and promptly lets himself fall down in the puddle that Louis is _certain_ does _not_ consist of only water.

Afterwards, they climb into the car already waiting for them. There are shower stalls backstage but Louis isn’t in the mood for cold tiles and a quick wash of his hair—he’d only end up showering back at the hotel again. At least there isn’t a meet-and-greet today.

He’s tired and horny and a little sad somehow, his energy all spent. Harry, ever so careful of other people’s property, has spread out towels for them to sit on so they won’t actually soak the seats. He quickly checks Twitter, but there’s nothing about his accident even if there are a few pictures where he’s sitting down. Like he’d hoped, the rain did a good job covering up the mess.

Harry’s got his arm wrapped around Louis, because there’s no one waiting for them at the exit they use and the blinded windows make it hard to see who’s in the car. It’s kind of nice, the kind of quiet they get, even the driver’s shielded away from them when Harry pulls up the divider.

“You okay?” he asks Louis, and Louis nods, craning his neck so he can kiss Harry.

It was meant to be soft and chaste, but the first taste of Harry’s tongue has him wanting more, and he realises that Harry’s hard-on wasn’t a fluke when his hand finds Harry’s groin.

“You liked that?” he asks, and he’s a little bewildered. Of course Louis _himself_ had enjoyed the simple act of emptying his bladder, even if it’d been a bit of an awkward situation. It definitely topped some of his worse orgasms though, pleasure-wise.

Harry blushes, deep enough to be visible in the dim light of the car. “I wanna suck you off,” he whispers, trailing his fingers up Louis’ hardening cock, still wet in his jeans. Louis’ hips shock up, moving towards the pressure. “Don’t want you to take a shower yet.”

Louis groans as he presses his eyes closed, because he’s not going to have sex in the car.

Mercifully, Harry keeps his hands to himself the rest of the ride. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t touch himself—because he does, slowly moving the palm of his hand up and down his encased erection, mouth a little opened as he stares at Louis.

They tumble out of the car when they get to the hotel; Niall will be going in through the front entrance to serve the waiting fans, but like at the stadium there’s not a single person at the back entry.

Louis can barely hold on out until they’re in the hotel room, his erection throbbing to the point of pain as Harry keeps biting his lip, keeps looking up and down between Louis’ lips and his cock.

And then Harry’s shoving his jeans down, Louis kicking his Vans off to the side while Harry peels the wet clothes from his legs until his lower body’s naked.

Harry—Jesus, Harry licks at the skin of his thigh, and it’s pleasantly warm and wet even if Louis is a little weirded out ‘cause Harry’s tasting his _wee_. Then Harry scrapes his teeth along the sensitive skin, and Louis shivers as he pushes his fingers into Harry’s wet hair. Harry’s obviously okay with it, Louis can deal if it means that he gets Harry’s mouth on him.

Harry hums like he’s pleased, and then he swallows down Louis’ dick, tight wet heat everywhere and Louis sinks into the feeling, rocks his hips gently as Harry licks at his skin the exact way Louis likes it: with the full width of his tongue along the underside, before pushing the tip down into his slit.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moans, spreading his legs a little wider so he’s more stable.

Harry briefly pulls off, nuzzling in Louis’ pubes as he leaves his skin exposed to the sudden cold. He whispers, “You were so brave out there, Lou. Looked so _hot_ ,” and it’s only then that Louis realises Harry’s still palming himself, hips pushing up.

“You gonna come before me then, Haz?” he gasps out, pushing Harry’s head back so he can watch even if he can’t see that much.

“Loved that you did that,” Harry says while he nods, his fingers curving around the bulge in his trousers as he moves them faster, borderline desperate. “Gonna come in my jeans now.”

“Yeah, fuck, there you go,” Louis curses as Harry’s eyes slip closed, as his hand moves while his hips stutter in place, a couple of moans falling from his lips before he breathes fast, hard, looking up at Louis.

“I can kinda taste you,” Harry mumbles, leaning forward to lick at Louis’ skin again, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s related to Harry’s orgasm but it makes his dick twitch regardless. Then his mouth is on Louis’ dick again, Harry’s hand squeezing between his legs before two fingers are pressing gently at his hole, and it’s the promise of more and the view of Harry looking up at him from sticky lashes—from makeup and rain and hair products—that have him pull Harry as close as he can go before he comes.

“Feels so good, Haz,” he stutters, his hips working their own rhythm as Harry swallows around him, both velvety soft and solid and so good, his tongue lapping gently at the head of Louis’ cock until his muscles stop clenching, until his dick stops pushing out semen.

Harry pulls off with a smack, licking his lips as he wipes the come pearling at the corner of his mouth away with a swipe of his thumb. He sucks on the digit, still on his knees and looking up at Louis. “I can fuck you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs a little breathlessly. “Sure. After we shower.”

He kind of has to go again by then, his overworked muscles still sore from earlier so when they’re in the shower, Harry bites down on his shoulder and waits until Louis wees again. He’s the one to hold Louis, aiming at the drain, and Louis _almost_ whispers to him that he doesn’t need to do that before he decides there’s been quite enough excitement for today.

He’ll save it for later.

After they fuck, they cuddle close together, still naked and still a little damp, and regardless of the thunderstorm continuing to roar outside of their window he sleeps better than he has in quite a while.


End file.
